Red Dead Ringer
by ThePostman
Summary: Jack Marston plans to extract revenge on every single person who was involved in the death of his father. Due to this recklessness, many people get caught up in his plan for revenge, and must pay the consequences of actions that are not their own.
1. Prologue

I leaned over the railing of the porch of Beecher's Hope, pressing what was probably my fifth cigarette into my lips. I hoped the smoke would take the edge off of my anxiety, but it didn't. My heart beat with pure anger inside of my chest, and my fingers itched to pull a trigger, to stab, to strangle. I took a deep, sighing breath, filling my lungs with smoke, but it didn't go away.

I had been waiting all fucking day. When was he going to get here? It's not like that fat bastard had to walk. I shook my head, calming myself. No, the man had helped me once before. He would, without a doubt, help me again. I just had to talk it up a bit to him. No problem. If I was anything in the word, I was smart.

I turned and sat in a rocking chair, finishing off my cigarette and dropping it to the ground before crushing it underneath my boot. That fat man, I couldn't remember his name, had helped me. Only a few weeks ago, I had gotten myself in some bad trouble. I had gotten in a fight, and one thing led to another and the other man's brain was splattered across the sidewalk. I was defending myself, and usually that wouldn't be a problem, and yet it was. Turns out, that man had been a police officer, not in uniform, but still an officer of the law.

Next thing I knew, I was being thrown in a filthy jail cell to rot. A few weeks later, I was led into a courtroom and presented to a judge. I was filthy and in a terrible mood, and I had a few choice words for the policemen around me and the judge too, but then that fat man came in. He was a lawyer, apparently, and came to defend me. I had rolled my eyes and figured I was fucked, and this man was just wasting his time.

Well, I was wrong. He was a hell of a good lawyer for me, and presented my case while I kept my mouth tightly shut. Then, to my surprise, the handcuffs were unlocked and I was set free. So I told him to meet me at my ranch when the next day to talk about a business proposition. He nodded and we both went on our happy ways.

Now I was waiting and the sun was nearly setting, and there was no sign of him. So I had yet another cigarette to calm my nerves. That's when I saw him, perched on his horse, trotting over the hillside towards my ranch. I sat back, puffing less violently, and waited for him to approach.

He had to be about fifty years old, with slicked back black hair and dog-like brown eyes that probably come in handy when he's lying his ass off for people like me. He was short, much shorter than I, and looked strange sitting on top of a horse. His stomach hung over and rested on his legs a bit. He had a full mustache that dropped down a bit at the corners of his mouth. He looked at me severely before gently climbing down from his horse.

"Is there something you wanted?" He said to me, pulling out his own cigar and lighting it. His voice was heavy with an accent that I was almost positive was French. "I'm sorry for being late, I've only just finished up at my office, and I would like to head home to my family now." He paused. "That is, unless you're planning on shooting me?"

"No, I'm not planning to." I crossed my arms. "I've heard some things about you, mister. Are they true?"

"What kinds of things?" He narrowed his eyes, and took his cigar from his mouth.

"I heard you've got connections within the law, and I've also heard that you can cover up things." I raised my eyebrows. "In fact, I've heard that you've covered up certain crimes in the past, and got yourself in trouble for it."

"Who told you this?" He didn't seem too angry, just surprised. Maybe even impressed.

"It doesn't matter by now." I shrugged. "I would just like the same favor done for me, that's all. I'd like your help. Unlike those men, I'm not doing this for money or drugs or power. I'm doing this for justice, and for revenge."

"That sort of bitterness will eat you alive, my boy." His eyebrows knitted together.

"It already has." I replied. "And if you help me, I will make sure your secret remains a secret. You will get half of any money I may make from it, and I'll make sure to put in a good name for you around town. Hell, I'll even do yard work for you if you want. Just say we have a deal."

"I can't agree if I don't know what you're planning." He crossed his arms, mirroring me.

"I need the names and locations of all of the officers and soldiers who were credited in the abolishment of Dutch van der Linde's Gang. All except Edgar Ross, that is."

* * *

A Word from Your Writer:

For those of you who follow my ask blog, this is something different. This is my take on a Jack that took the path of crime instead of the path of good. Consider this an AU to the storyline of my blog, if you will. If you don't follow my ask blog, disregard this message.


	2. Chapter One

Phillip Ramsey pressed his fingers to his forehead. He sat at his desk in his home, and I sat across from him. Files littered his desk, and his usually slicked back hair was messy. His family was asleep, and I was instructed to both keep quiet and not speak to any of them if I happened to see them. He didn't want his family to know about his dealings with a criminal like me. I guess I could understand that well enough.

I guessed that for our entire deal, we would be stuck conversing somewhere in secret, most likely at night. It wasn't like I had a problem with that; I only expected it to get old very fast. In the event of a crisis, I was going to barge into his home or office and let him know. Family and friends be damned. Of course, I wasn't going to let him know that. I wasn't going to have him call off our little deal over his squeamishness.

He went dug through his papers, and I sat in silence. He didn't seem too afraid of me. He obviously didn't think I was going to kill him. What he seemed to be afraid of was people becoming suspicious as to why he was becoming friends with a petty criminal like myself. We weren't friends, but to an outsider it might seem so.

"This hasn't been easy, young man." He said finally, lifting one paper up. "I hope you didn't expect them all at once. I've only got one name for you now."

"That's better than nothing." I replied, leaning back in the chair and crossing my arms.

"Isaac KcKinnon might be a fellow you're interested in." He told me. "It says here he was given some sort of certificate of bravery around the same time those medals were handed out for clearing out your father's gang."

"Sounds like me and him will need to have a conversation about that, then." I decided. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"Not too far from here. He lives in a big house with his sister and her family." Mr. Ramsey leaned back and closed his eyes. "I suggest you wait until morning to go after him, and if I hear anything about any member of his family being hurt, I won't help you any longer."

"I realize that you probably don't think too kindly of me, but I'm not about to hurt innocent people." I shrugged. "I'm only going after those who deserve to die."

"Does anyone really deserve to die, Mr. Marston?" Phillip Ramsey asked me.

"Does anyone really deserve to live?"

"No wonder you find trouble so often, with an attitude like that."

"Well, tell me, sir." I spoke calmly, even though my temper was beginning to flare. He raised his eyebrows at me. "If someone came and took your whole family away, killed each and every one of them, wouldn't you want to spill some blood in return?"

"I'm a man of morals, Mr. Marston."

"That's a fucking lie, old man." I stood him my chair and pointed my finger in his face. "You would be boiling alive with rage, just like me. Anyone would be. You'd want to slaughter them, too. You might not actually do it, cowardice is nothing to be proud of, but you would want to see them dead. That's the difference between you and me, Mr. Ramsey. I'm a man of action, and I'm not going to let these bastards walk on this god's green earth with knowing what they've done. While I want to tear their eyes out and leave them to bleed, I shoot them instead. A quick, painless death, which was more than my family had to bear."

"Calm down, son, I mean you no harm."

"Don't patronize me. Don't act like you're better than me, like I'm some sort of animal. We're all animals on the inside, you fool."

* * *

I checked to make sure my gun was loaded, and knocked on the door of the home. A tired looking woman answered, and she sighed at the sight of me.

"Can I help you with something, mister?" She tried for cheerfulness, but it came out halfhearted.

"Is Isaac here?" I asked politely. She nodded and turned around, yelling his name into the house and walking away. A moment later a man appeared, a bulky man, with short-cut brown hair and a scowl on his face.

"What the hell do you want?"

"You and I need to have a private conversation, sir." I said.

"Fuck off." He tried to close the door in my face but I stopped it with my foot. I reached down to my gun and gave it a small shake.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked him. He looked back into the house and then stepped outside with me. I walked out into the plains, far enough away from his home, and he followed.

"Listen here, you little shit. I don't know who you think you are, but you're not the only one who carries around a gun." He said, pulling his own gun from his coat.

"Do you remember John Marston?" I asked him. This caught him off guard.

"That gunslinger?"

"He wasn't a gunslinger when you helped shoot him down at his own ranch. He wasn't a gunslinger, but you received some sort of certificate of bravery for shooting him down."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I wonder how brave people will find me for shooting you."

Before he could react, I pulled my revolver from my side and emptied it into his chest. He stood for a moment, shocked, before falling back into the long grass of the plains, sputtering and choking. He pressed his hands frantically to his chest, but that only served to coat them in blood. He raised his red hands to the sky for a moment, wheezing desperately, before his arms fell and he went silent. I stood for a moment, enjoying the mixture of dry heat and the kind breeze of the day, before sighing to myself. I walked over to his body and picked up his gun, firing a few shots into the distance, and then placing it back into his hand.

People would believe that we dueled. He lost. His family would cry over his death, and then in a few months they would get over it. He had no wife or children to leave behind. No one's life would be ruined by his death. I thought about this as I looked down at the corpse. His eyes were empty, his body limp, and his blood still trickling from the wound on his chest. The heat would make him rot quickly. I guessed that he would be found quickly in the area we were in. His family would be too blinded by their loss to remember my face. It was better that way.

I stepped away from his body, no longer wishing to see him. I whistled for my horse, and he came trotting over the nearest hill. I climbed into the saddle and made my way to the saloon at Thieves' Landing.

* * *

Several well timed drinks later, I found myself sprawled out in my bed above the Slaughterhouse, fully clothed. Face down in the pillow, I contemplated how I had managed to climb the stairs. I was still completely drunk, and I hadn't fallen asleep. I just lay there, not thinking. I rolled over to my back and pulled off my boots. I considered for a brief moment taking a small trip to the brothel not a minute away, but I decided against it. I didn't need some cheap whore's fake moaning in my ear, and then taking more money than she rightfully deserved when I passed out. I had only used whores a few times before, I figured that I shouldn't start getting in the habit when I barely had enough money to feed myself.

After laying there for a while, thinking about nothing in particular, I found myself actually waking up. The hazy sunlight filtered in through the windows and instantly made me angry. I hadn't even realized that I had fallen asleep. I was uncomfortable and fevered from sleeping in my clothes, and I climbed out of the bed to smooth down my coat and put my hat and boots back on. Phillip Ramsey had given me my first piece of promised information, so I decided to go and see if he needed any work to be done.

A few minutes later, I found myself in Blackwater. The bright sun was wearing my patience thin. I knocked on his door and stepped back, leaning against the side of the house. Mr. Ramsey answered the door and instantly looked irritated.

"What business do you have here, boy?" He asked, crossing his arms. "I don't have any new information this soon and I've got my own problems to deal with."

"I was just seeing what you wanted in return for the first bit of information you gave me. That was our deal, right? I can't expect something for nothing."

Mr. Ramsey looked away in thought, and then looked back at me with narrowed eyes. "I may have a small job for you to take care of."

"Well, what is it?" I pulled a cigarette from my coat pocket and lit it.

"My oldest son, Earl, has spent the last few days in the saloon, gambling away his hard-earned money and getting drunk. If you could bring him home, _alive_, you can consider your debt repaid."

"Not a problem." I took a long drag of my cigarette and flicked the ashes off the end. "I'll be back."

I walked down to the saloon. It wasn't a long walk, but I welcomed the shade there. My eyes and head were sore, and I hoped this wouldn't be too difficult. I opened the door and looked in, and noticed a young man, not much older than myself, humiliating himself at the blackjack table. He had yellow hair slicked back against his skull and brown eyes like his father, but not nearly as kind.

"Come on, Earl." I said to him. "It's time for you to go home."

He turned around to glare at me. "Who the hell are you?" His lips curled up. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. I'm not listening to a word you say."

"Your father told me to come get you." I told him, and he stood suddenly, causing the bar to go silent and everyone to turn around. He was just as tall as I was.

"Oh, now I know who you are." He said under his breath. "You're that criminal that's been sneaking around, making my father nervous. Don't think I'm not onto you, _Marston_, and as soon as I find out what it is that you're up to, I'm going to turn you in. Might even get myself some money in my pocket doing so, a man like you has got to have a bounty."

I sighed to myself. Mr. Ramsey said alive, but he didn't say unharmed. So I swung my arm back and punched him square in the jaw, sending him reeling over the Blackjack table. I took my lasso from my belt and tied his hands behind him.

"Look now, you've gone and embarrassed yourself in front of all of these nice people." I said as I dragged him upright by the back of his neck. I hauled him out of the bar and dragged him along, spitting and cussing, to his parents' house. I tossed him down on the porch and watched him flop around for a moment before knocking on the door a few times.

A lovely young woman with eerily light eyes answered the door. She blinked at me before glancing down at the drunken fool twisting on the floor. She reminded me of a snake, but I didn't say so. "I'll go get my father." She told me, before slamming the door in my face. I waited for a moment, nudging the angry young man with my boot, before Mr. Ramsey opened the door.

"Oh dear god, what did you do?" He exclaimed, helping his son up and untying the ropes from his wrists.

"You said bring your son home alive, and here he is, still breathing and everything." I shrugged.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Ramsey asked his son. Earl simply glared at me before entering the house and slamming the door behind him.

"Your family sure likes to slam doors." I noted.

"I should've known better than to let you around them." Mr. Ramsey said more to himself than to me. "But I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I? Just, try to conduct yourself like a normal human being when you are around them, please."

"I'm not sure I know what that's like anymore, sir."

"Then why don't you just go home?" He crossed his arms. "I'll contact you when I have the information you need, but otherwise you can do whatever you'd like."

I stared at him for a second, thinking, before turning around and doing as he said.

Beecher's Hope hadn't changed since my mother's death. A thick layer of dust coated the majority of the house. The furniture was still placed the same. Heaps of ashes still rested in the fireplace. The only thing that was different was the absence of my parents, and my parents' bed, which I had promptly burned after my mother's death by her strange illness.

My heart was made heavy each time I walked through the doorway. I hung my head and swung a few dry logs into the fireplace, lighting it. I found a half-full bottle of brandy and a tin of cigarettes. I removed my hat, gloves, and boots, and sat in an armchair rather close to the fire. I leaned over, lighting the end of the cigarette in the fire, and prepared for an afternoon of wallowing in self-pity.

This had been a regular event since the death of my father, and became even more frequent after my mother's death. I had no friends or other family. Even Rufus had died along with Pa and Uncle in the attack on the ranch that day. I was entirely alone. I wondered if it was better that way. Perhaps it was. I was no longer burdened with the responsibility of taking care of another person, or their thoughts and feelings.

Often times, I wished I could just die. My attempts to end my own life had not been fruitful, and I began to think of myself as even a failure in that aspect. I couldn't even kill myself properly. So instead, I killed others. I hunted bounties and never brought a single one back alive. I took down groups of outlaws hiding out like rats in the wilderness. Sometimes I would even happen along small camps of people, alone in the desert, and I would slaughter them all simply because no one was looking. Life had meant nothing to the men who killed my father, why should it mean something to me? I was only following their example, after all.

Eventually, I read a newspaper. It detailed the exploits of a man named Edgar Ross, and my blood boiled in my veins. I tracked him down, and killed him. I shot him a few times in the chest, dug the money from his pockets, and kicked his corpse into the river. Afterwards, I wept openly on the banks of that river, not knowing where to go or what to do. So I did the only thing I knew, I went to the nearest town and drank until I was numb.

After that, my days and nights blurred together. I was no longer living, I only existed. And yet, my desire for revenge still burned fresh in my heart. I knew Edgar Ross couldn't have done what he did alone. I wanted them all dead and gone, every last one of them. Maybe then, justice would finally be served. Maybe then, I would be alright.

With the bottle of brandy emptied, and my third cigarette wound down into a stub, I decided to go to bed. My head was finally fuzzy enough to block all complicated thoughts, and I made my way into my old bedroom I spent so many nights in as a teenager. I pulled the majority of my clothes off and crawled beneath the blankets.

There were so few comforts in life like sleeping in a familiar bed, in a familiar place. I didn't know if Beecher's Hope even held that anymore, but there was no harm in pretending. So in my drunken mind, I imagined that Uncle was still sleeping across the hall, and that my parents were still sleeping in their room. I imagined that I was still a child, and they were all still there, and that everything was going to be alright. Even if I knew in the back of my head that it was all a lie.


	3. Chapter Two

I awoke to coldness. My muscles ached from lying in the same position in the freezing cold for hours. That was okay. I had slept in a stable. More specifically, I had slept in the stable outside of the home of the Ramsey's. It contained only two stalls, meant for horses. Their old yellow swayback occupied the other, while I occupied the cleaner one. Lying in a pile of clean hay with a cigarette and a drink was easier than facing my childhood home again, and it helped avoid nightmares when I didn't sleep so well.

I was disgusting. I knew I was. My scalp, along with the rest of my body, itched terribly and felt sore and uncomfortable from sleeping in my clothes. It was too cold to bathe in a river unless I wanted to freeze myself. I considered going into town and purchasing a hot bath. Even the thought of it was grueling to me.

The girl walked in. I couldn't help but think how much she looked like a snake. She was thinner than most grown women were. Her hips and shoulders were narrow, and there was practically nothing to her chest. She was all legs, neck, and eyes. I couldn't look her in the eye most of the time. They cut too deep and held too long. I broke eye contact so that I could keep my secrets before she ripped them all from my mind. The snake girl.

She noticed me there and instantly curled her lips up in disgust. I understood why. I probably smelled terrible. I probably looked terrible.

"Father wants to see you." She said, crossing her arms. "He won't tell me why, but I can guess."

"You can keep your guesses to yourself, then." I stood and brushed the hay from my pants. "This isn't any business of yours."

"It will be my business if my father is harmed because of your stupid ideas." Her eyes burned into me, and I had to look away before she seared me right through. I left before she could say another thing to me.

And so I entered the house and met with her father. He sat at his desk, red-faced and sweating. His hair, usually slicked back neatly, was hanging in his face. He was deeply distressed.

"I think we may be suspected." He said nervously. "I've never had the stomach for murder. Everyone knows that. I keep a gun on me, sure, but not for any real reasons, no." He was almost hysterical. I shut the door before someone else could overhear. "I'm quite sure I've been connected to the recent deaths. But they know I'm not the one, but they know I'm involved, I think. They'll know the rest soon."

"Would you like me to kill you and your entire family now, or would you like to wait it out?" Perhaps my sarcasm wasn't well placed, because his face instantly turned as white as paper and he nearly choked on his own breath.

"My family! No." He caught his breath. "No. I know what must be done. You must not kill anyone else until I say so. I will take a bit of time off of work. Maybe host a party with my co-workers to make things seem normal, even jovial. My wife would stop pestering me, then." He shook the thoughts away from his head. "And I'll need you to stay on my property, like I know you've been doing already."

"Why?" I asked, irritated.

"Just in the event that anything goes wrong. You're a strong young man who knows his guns." He pulled his mustache nervously. "If you protect my family, I'll make it worth your while."

And I suppose that's how I ended up standing in the corner of their home while some absolutely ridiculous party was hosted. Mrs. Ramsey attended to guests and gave the fakest laugh at everything that was said in a lighthearted tone, the snake-looking girl sat near an absolutely stupid young man with white-blonde hair while he gave her all the courtesy in the world and ignored her blatant "fuck me" looks, and Earl hid away like I wanted to do at that moment.

Being surrounded by police officers and lawyers was the last thing I wanted. Sure, I was probably unrecognizable, due to the fact that Mrs. Ramsey insisted that I be cleaned up if I even thought about entering her home during the party, but it still made me nervous. My guns had to be concealed as well, which mean that one of them dug into my ribs almost constantly.

I would've been hiding in the barn, if not for Phillip Ramsey's insistence that I was indoors during the affair. "The danger is inside this time, my boy. Not outside." He insisted. So I watched the party and felt significantly more intelligent than half of the people there, especially the boy with white hair.

A group of policemen stood a little too near me, going on about a raid that they did to clear out some thugs too close to the city. They bragged about their kills, and I turned away before I could roll my eyes out of my skull.

But to the next side, there was a group of middle-aged women chatting away about the nice looking men at the party.

"And why isn't your son married yet, Mrs. Ramsey?" One woman asked. "If only I had a daughter to give."

"I think my son is considering the military. He's always been a very serious young man. I think the life of a solider would suit him." Mrs. Ramsey replied.

"That's not what I hear." Another woman said under her breath, and Mrs. Ramsey's head quickly snapped around to her.

"And what did you hear?" She asked.

"In all honesty, I heard he prefers the company of your yellow-skinned maid." The woman replied with a shrug. "Well, until you dismissed her, that is."

"Gossip! The women around town need to learn to shut their mouths!"

I almost laughed as they failed to realize that they were the women around town. And then I couldn't help but return my attention to the snake-girl and the white-haired boy again.

"My sister is getting married soon." The boy said, pinching specs of lint off of his pants. "Perhaps you could attend the wedding with me?"

"Weddings are dull, Peter." The snake-girl told him. Her patience was being tried, I could tell. "I could show you a little excitement, if you'd like."

"Like a horse race?" He was confused.

"Better than a horse race. I could take you upstairs and you could try at kissing me. If you don't like it, we could stop, but if you do like it then-"

"Wouldn't it be rude to leave the party?" He looked around at the other guests, concerned. I couldn't help at laughing then. The snake girl whipped around, her steel eyes catching me instantly.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to eavesdrop?" She snapped.

"Not really, no." I shrugged. "But if you'd like, I could take you upstairs and we could leave your poor, confused friend down here."

"I'd rather choke on my gloves."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've choked on something, I'm guessing?" Peter blushed at my implication, but said nothing. He seemed to be catching on to actual human communication.

She scowled, stood and went upstairs without another word.

"I think she's waiting for you." I turned to Peter, and he stood his head. He looked like he was about to get sick.

"Do you really think she's…?" He looked uncomfortable even thinking the words.

"I don't know. Maybe." I shrugged. "Why?"

"I don't think I could kiss her, or even think about kissing her." He told me shakily. "Not if her mouth's been-" He stopped himself.

"You're a picky one, aren't you?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "Perhaps you should try looking for a wife in a younger girl. I'm assuming that's what you're doing, is looking for a wife?" He nodded. "Well, from what I've observed, the older a girl gets, the more impatient she'll get in waiting around for a man. If you want a girl as pure as morning snow, that would be your best bet. As for me, I prefer girls like the one upstairs. Unfortunately, they don't prefer me back."

"Maybe you should try." He offered. "She seemed to be displeased with my choice of conversation."

"No, I doubt she would take to me." And I knew it was true. I'd already disrupted her life enough. If I tried to put my hands on her, she might break one of them off. I didn't blame her, to be honest. And so Peter shrugged, and walked away with a dazed expression.

Despite the entertaining conversations, the party was extremely dull. A few of the policemen got fall-over drunk and had to leave early, and I ended up having to escort the older women home while they gossiped about me and who I could possibly be right in front of my face.

After that was over with, I went back to the Ramsey's home. The fat man let me take the extra liquor back to the stables. I think he was a little too satisfied with my choice of living quarters. I wonder what he would've done if I would've demanded to sleep on his couch, or even in an extra bedroom in his home. But I didn't. That would be a bad idea for a lot of reasons.

And then, when I was laying in the hay, drunk and exhausted, I felt a sudden void. And I remembered when I was younger that Rufus would lay at the foot of my bed when I slept. Pa didn't like it, and he told me the dog wasn't allowed on the furniture, but after my parents had gone to sleep I would pat the bed so he could jump up. During the winter, he kept my feet warm, and during the summer it became uncomfortably warm, but I still let him stay. The companionship was worth it.

I turned on my side. By now, I would have my stomach full on one of Ma's dinners, which weren't really as terrible as we made them out to be. My head would be spinning in curiosity about the plot of a book, instead of with intoxication. Rufus would be at my feet, and Uncle would be snoring across the hall.

But instead I was sleeping, filthy and drunk and alone, in the stables of a man who was helping me become a serial killer. I wanted to think it was funny and ironic, but I didn't. Instead, something in my chest twisted hard like a cold knife, and my eyes burned so I closed them.

The loneliness hurt worst of all, and I considered for a moment walking down to Blackwater to hire a whore, but I decided against it. I didn't particularly enjoy sex with whores. Paying for sex with a stranger turned the whole situation into a chore, like something automatically done to relieve an annoying ache, but not really.

I found myself pitying them more than wanting them. Most of their eyes were sad, like beaten dogs. They showed amazing restraint, because each time I touched one they seemed to be disgusted with me entirely. The first time I slept with a whore, she laid there, entirely still the entire time. I was too drunk to finish the job, and I felt so bad that I paid her extra. She didn't look at me when she left.

The next one at least participated, but she wasn't enthusiastic. I couldn't finish then either, and she was brave enough to ask me why as I dressed myself again. I told her the truth. I didn't want to have a bastard. Not another son of a whore like me, no sir. She laughed at that and told me that I was wasting my money.

"Maybe next time you should pay for a woman's mouth instead of her cunt." She told me.

But every interaction with a woman was dead and empty. Every interaction with anyone was like that, actually. When I had visited whores in the past, it wasn't to relieve any pent-up sexual frustration; it was because I was lonely. But it would be sad to admit that to a whore, especially since they probably see it every damn day. So I would pretend like I actually wanted them, and I think it made some of them feel better to be actually wanted, even though it was a lie.

And so I began to wonder what actually mattered, and I found that I couldn't list anything that did. Not one thing, except for revenge. Hate still burned its way through my veins with every beat of my heart. I decided quickly that I would find something to live for once I was done. Once it was all over. Once I could go home.

And with that, I let myself sleep.

* * *

When I woke up, I was terribly hungover. I politely asked Mrs. Ramsey if I could have a cup of some hot tea, and she obliged, but not without a tight-lipped expression. And while I sipped it, nursing an aching head, the boy approached me. I couldn't remember his name but I remembered that he hated me more than the girl did.

"You listen here and you listen well, Marston." He told me. "If I ever even think you're giving my sister shit again, I will make your life a living hell."

"I don't remember giving your sister anything." I said.

"Don't think I haven't heard about your little remarks." He was pissed. "Doubting my sister's virginity? She's no whore, Marston. She's not the type you are used to. She is better than that. You ought not even speak to her."

"I can speak to whoever I like, actually." I pointed out. "And if she has such a problem with me, why doesn't she speak to me herself instead of running to you and telling you all this shit? She seems capable enough of handling herself."

"My sister didn't tell me anything. She's too proud. It was Peter that told me."

I laughed at that. "Did Peter also tell you that he brought up that I should sleep with her, and I was the one who said it was a bad idea? No, no. I can tell you don't believe me. It doesn't matter anyway. That little pissant will say anything to seem important. I can tell."

"You don't know anything."

"And you think you do?"

"Listen here. My sister deals with enough people saying things behind her back. She doesn't need another one."

"And who do you think you are? Her guardian?"

"I'm her older brother. It's my job to protect her. But I wouldn't expect you to know that, Marston. You don't seem to care about protecting anyone but yourself." He left after he said that. Probably scared I might hit him.

But he was right. I did only care about myself, and even then I barely cared about myself. I ate and drank so I wouldn't die, I relieved pains because I didn't need anymore than usual. I stayed alive because if I was dead, who would be around to kill all of these people who deserved to die?

I threw back the rest of my tea, and was glad when it burned my throat.

Maybe I should've just hired the fucking whore last night.


	4. Chapter Three

The worst thing was not being able to kill anyone for a while. Laying low was incredibly difficult, so I spent most of the time with myself and a touch of drink. But after days passed, I found it hard to sleep again. While drinking numbed the immediate pain I felt, it made my nightmares worse. I dreamt of blood and death, and being pierced by lead. I dreamt of those I loved who had gone away, screaming in agony and flailing in the burning fires of hell. And each night I would wake, my fingers clenched so hard around my coat that I thought I might rip it, and then I would force myself to stay awake.

That's when I noticed the girl leaving the house at night.

I watched her unintentionally, and there were no bad intentions behind it. She was probably the only member of that stupid family that was interesting at all. Maybe that's because I didn't know much about her. And while I watched her gather her skirts up and slowly cut her way across the grassy yard, I tried to name the things I did know about her.

I knew that she desired the attention of men, and she wasn't ashamed of it. I knew that she couldn't really be _that_ stupid. That was the end of my list. I didn't even know her name. I watched her climb over the small fence that enclosed the property and made up my mind to follow her. Wherever she was going, it would lead only to trouble.

It wasn't hard to follow her without being noticed. I could make my steps just as silent as she could. The only issue I faced was hiding. She was a very small woman, very thin and child-sized. In the dark, with careless eyes, she would've easily been mistaken for a young boy. But I always was observant, even as a child. A few things could easily identify her from a child, and from a boy. The curve of her back down to her stomach was the most obvious; no man could mimic that trait without breaking a few ribs. Her legs set her aside from a child. She did not have the short, clumsy legs of a child. I would say half of her body was taken up by her legs.

She made her way into Blackwater. Her pace was quick, but full of stealth. I wondered what she was doing. What could she have been looking for in the town? I glanced around. I knew what prowled those streets at night: robbers, murderers, rapists, and men who would do all three at once. She didn't glance around before plunging down into a dark alley, and without thinking, I took one long step forward and dragged her back by her skirt.

To her credit, she did not shriek. Instead, she twisted away from me, ducking down for a moment before standing back up as I dragged her into the light by her skirt. Before I could let go, she turned quickly, poking me hard in the side with a knife that I didn't notice she was carrying. Her steel eyes looked into mine and instantly lit up with recognition and disgust.

"You son of a bitch, what do you think you are doing?" She dug the knife a little harder into my side, hard enough to poke a hole in my coat, but not my skin.

"A lady like you should really watch her language." I told her.

"And a man like you should keep his hands to himself." She nodded down at my hand, still gripping her skirt, and I instantly let go. "Why were you following me?" Before I could answer, she went on. "My father won't continue to help you if you do anything, or try to do anything to me. I'm not afraid to poke a few holes in you to keep your filthy hands off of me."

"I don't mean any harm, or disrespect." I took a step back, giving her some personal space. "I saw you sneaking away. I only meant to satisfy my own curiosity, and to see what kind of trouble you were up to."

"I'm up to no trouble." She said, keeping her knife pointed at me. Her grip was underhanded and so tight that her knuckles were white as paper. The knife was larger than I expected it to be too. Long and thin, almost like a short rapier. But it was easy to tell that she could not do much with it. Her forearms were tiny, and held almost no strength. She might be able to poke a few holes like she had threatened, but the injuries probably wouldn't kill. Still, if some drunken man decided to try to get under her skirts, and he was slow enough, she could either kill him or give him a good scare. I suddenly admired her.

"I don't believe that. Just exactly where were you heading anyway? This alley is only a shortcut to the slums."

"And what business is it of yours?"

"None, maybe. But I'm sure that your father would be devastated if one of his children were taken in the night, or harmed in any way. Too devastated to provide me with the information I need. Think of me as a bodyguard."

"I think of you as a nuisance." She hissed, bristling and suddenly the most snake-like I had ever seen her. "Like a wild animal that you feed once, and it only comes back demanding more and more, and getting angry when you don't provide. You are the trouble here. I may be a sneak, but I am not a murderer."

"You could've been, just now." I stepped closer, grabbing the wrist that held her knife. "Just a quick hard stab, maybe a slash, and you could've been."

She tried to pull away but I held on. "It's not murder if it's in self-defense. It would be justified."

"Maybe to you. Maybe you could go to sleep at night, safe and warm, and tell yourself that. I don't have anyone who cares about me, so who would question it? But what if I did? What if my mother was still alive, and would cry herself to sleep each night over her poor dead son? Her only child, you know. Murdered, over a misunderstanding. Murdered, because you thought he meant you harm when he didn't."

"Leave me alone." She tried to yank her hand away, but I pulled her closer. She was afraid. "I hate you."

"We all have it in us. Even you. Do it, if you really hate me so much." I clutched her wrist tighter. "You're afraid and angry. Use it. Stab me."

And suddenly I was kicked hard, right between the legs. I let her wrist go to slump against the wall of the nearest building, trying my hardest not to fall into the filthy street. All the while, she dusted her skirt off and looked at me with contempt. She lifted her knife. I looked up at her and she smiled, sweet and cruel at the same time, before giving me a shallow nick on the nose.

"To remember me by."

I managed to cough out a laugh at that. She waited politely for me to catch my breath and learn to walk again. "You're no fool, miss." I told her.

"But you are. I'm beginning to think you have some kind of madness over you. Sometimes you act like two different people."

"I am two different people. One of them is dead."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Does madness ever make sense?"

"Well, if you're still intent on being my _bodyguard_, then follow me to my errand and escort me back." She straightened her shoulders. "But if you ever touch me like that again, I will stab you. Don't doubt me." I didn't. So I walked with her.

"You nearly broke my wrist." She said, replacing her knife into some hidden away place I would never see. "That was rude."

"I've never been known for my manners."

"But you expect me to have them? To be a proper lady and not say filthy words?"

"It would be the only thing I've expected out of you, but not anymore."

"That's right." She crossed her arms. "You better not expect a damned thing from me, because you will get nothing out of me. Not a single thing."

"Not even your name?" I realized that I didn't know it. I knew the boy's name, and the father's, but I didn't know hers or her mothers.

"My name is Pearl." She said.

"And your brother is Earl?" I grimaced. "How creative."

"Ask my mother about that. It's not my fault." And so we did go to the slums. I had to wait outside while she entered a poorly lit house, but she was only gone for a few minutes. As I looked back, I saw the face of a young Asian girl in the window, watching us. I tipped my hat to her, and she yanked the curtains shut.

"What was that about?" I asked Pearl.

"Only delivering a message." She replied. "A secret message. Even I don't know the content of it."

"From who? Your father?"

"If it was, do you think I would tell you? You're not entitled to all of our business, you know." I shrugged in response.

"Have you always had a smart mouth?"

"When one lacks a pretty face, it's best to have a smart mouth." She replied, and that took me off guard. She carried herself with assurance, and such an unconfident remark seemed out of place coming from her. But I knew why she said it. She didn't have what was typically looked for in a wife. She was too thin. She lacked breasts entirely, and her shoulders and hips were incredibly narrow. She didn't have the full cheeks and round chin that was practically the definition of beauty. Her cheekbones were high, and her nose was narrow. Her face was softly angled, but it was angled, and her eyes were sharp and unnerving. The only thing on her face that no man could deny was beautiful was her lips, but from those lips came only words of scorn for me. But I didn't think she was ugly at all. Only her attitude was ugly.

"You think your face isn't pretty?" I couldn't help but ask.

"I know my face isn't pretty." She told me. "If I was thicker, or my face was rounder, or my hair was lighter, I would be married by now. Instead, I'm only bones. It's not as if I try to be that way, I-" She stopped talking and looked away from me. Her steps quickened and I took longer steps to keep up.

"I don't think you're ugly at all." That made her stop walking and turn to me.

"Don't try to flatter me, Marston, I don't want it. Don't pity me either. I don't need a murderer's pity." I opened my mouth but she waved her hand sharply. "I can see that you do, and I know why. A woman who is not considered beautiful has nothing. I'd rather have nothing. I'm happy with nothing."

"Sometimes nothing is the best thing to have." This seemed to surprise her. "Nothing is clean."

"Only you would know that." She shook her head.

"Maybe you're right." And we walked the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

The next afternoon, I was waiting in the stables to die from nothing to do, when Pearl found me. She didn't say anything, only handed me a slip of paper and left with a sour look on her face before I could ask her any questions. When I opened it, I could see that it must've been written by Pearl. She had the neat, fine cursive that only a woman could have. The paper read the name Lawrence Wright, and Thieves' Landing. So I saddled up my horse and went there.

To fit in in Thieves' Landing would be a death sentence, but the same could be said about standing out. I managed to keep out of the way, and that was what was important. So I went to the bar, and asked after Lawrence Wright, but no one knew him. The women at the brothel knew, though. They knew all about him.

"Lenny Wright is a good customer." Said the woman who ran the Dixie Rose. Apparently, that was the name she preferred to be called too. Mrs. Dixie, more specifically, and she was a widow too if you didn't think her a liar. "He's kept nearly all of my girls company at least once. Why are you lookin' for him?"

"He's wronged me." I said simply.

"May I ask how?"

"He killed someone I loved." I told her, and that was all she needed to hear.

"He's staying out back. Just got finished with one of my girls, and now he's drinking himself silly." Mrs. Dixie patted my shoulder. "Don't make it too messy." I promised nothing.

He was sitting on the edge of the pier when I found him. He swung his feet in the filthy creek water and mumbled some drinking song to himself. He was still wearing his army uniform.

"What's a soldier like you doing out here?" I asked him. He looked up at me and smiled.

"Enjoying a little vacation. I work too hard." He laughed, taking another long drink from the bottle in his hand. "The women here are very nice. Have you had one of them yet?"

"Not yet. I don't plan to, either. I'm not much of one for whores, but I hear differently about you."

He scoffed. "Bet you think you're better than me because you don't sleep with whores, right?"

"No. I think I'm better than you because I don't stab men in the back who have done nothing but help me. I think I'm better than you because you're going to rot in hell far before I will."

He looked up at me, confused. "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

"Every night, in the deepest parts of your subconscious you see my face." He didn't understand, but I didn't care. "I hope you regret every decision you've ever made."

"The only thing I regret is not finding better liquor." He laughed, taking one last pull and throwing the empty bottle into the creek. He was still laughing when I ran my knife across his throat and threw his bleeding body into the muddy water.

* * *

When I got back to West Elizabeth, she was in the stable waiting for me. She would've looked lovely in that light of the moon if not for the scowl on her face.

"So it's done, he's dead then?" She asked, wringing her hands.

"Yes. Do you feel bad?"

"No. I'm not the one who killed him. How did you do it?"

"I opened his throat and threw him in the creek."

She nodded, understanding, and handed me another slip of paper, but I blocked her from leaving.

"Does your father know?" I asked.

"No." She shrugged. "He planned on hiding the information from you for a while. It was easy to look through his files. He should've never taught me to read."

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? You hate me. I know you do."

"Because I want it to be over with." She reached forward, grabbing my arm and digging her fingernails into it. "I thought about what you said, and I don't have nothing. I have everything. I love my family. I can't lose them, and every day that you are here, you put them at risk because you are a selfish, heartless man and I do hate you. I hate you with everything in my soul, and I want you out of my life. I want you away from my family. I need them to be safe, and you are putting them in danger. That is why I'm helping you, Jack Marston."

She wasn't a stupid girl. I knew that. She could understand, but maybe she just didn't want to. "And what if your family did die because of me? Because I'm selfish and heartless, right?" I asked her. "Would you want me dead, then? It would be justice. It would be my fault that your family was dead entirely. Would it be justice to want me dead, then?"

"Yes."

"Then don't judge my actions. My family is dead now, unlike yours. My family is dead because someone took advantage, someone selfish and heartless, more so than me, and because of many others. I only seek revenge, and justice. I want to put my family's souls to rest. If that is achieved through blood and murder, then so be it."

"So be it. I don't care about them. I only care about my family. So take it," She tucked the slip of paper into my pocket. "Take it and take the next one when I have it. Take everything you need and be done with it. I hope you find your peace."

And she lingered for a moment, only a moment, but that was all it took for a reckless thought to enter my mind. I wanted to kiss her. She deserved to be kissed for that¸ and I wanted to be the one to do it, but I didn't. I let her leave, and watched her while she went. I didn't kiss her, because I knew she would stab me this time. I didn't doubt her.


	5. Chapter Four

**A week later, my dreams of terror and fire became a reality.**

The men showed up in the night. I didn't know they were hunting me. No one knew. Not until I woke in the stables and my first sight was a man standing with a gun pointed to my face, and he was surrounded by flame.

I was scared, but quick. I kicked him down and shot him with my own gun like instinct. I left the burning stable. The ashes in the air burned my eyes. The house was on fire too. There was screaming everywhere. A few men on horses were laughing, waving torches in the black night. Bounty hunters, I knew.

My eyes stung. I would've wept if I had it in me still. We were so close, so close. I was only waiting on one more name, one more kill, and it would've been over. It would've been over. But now it was all over.

A hand touched my shoulder as gently as possible, and I looked back into the eyes of Phillip Ramsey. He was weeping. He still had it in him. But I no longer saw a fat, corrupt lawyer. I saw a father, and a husband, watching his home and life burn in the night.

"Listen, boy, I don't blame you for this. I want you to know that." His voice was thick with emotion. "My family cannot stay here, and we cannot stay together. It will be easier to find us that way." A gunshot sounded and one of the bounty hunters fell from his horse. The boy, Earl, ran forward screaming. A rifle was clutched in his hands. He shot another one of them, and I managed to shoot the other two before they could kill him. But there would be more, and soon. We were too close to Blackwater. The fire would be seen and the gunshots would be heard.

The mother found Phillip and me first. Her hair was down and she looked much older than I remembered. She clutched at her husband's shoulders for solace. Then the boy returned, dragging Pearl with him. Her nightgown was torn open and burned at the bottom.

And so they were split. Mr. Ramsey would leave by himself, find his own way, he said, and so would the mother. He clutched her shoulder and told her to go to her sister's. She would be safest there, he said.

"We cannot stay together. We will be easier to find that way. Earl, take your sister and keep her safe. I know you will. You always have."

Tears streamed down their faces as they said their goodbyes to each other. I was out of place. Despite the old man's words, I felt as though it were entirely my fault. And the hateful glares I got from Pearl only strengthened that feeling. She wept the hardest when she hugged her father. She whispered something to him in another language, and sadly cupped his cheek, and that was the last of it.

She and her brother left last. She pressed the paper into my hand in the light of her burning life. Her eyes were puffy, and red, and still full of steel.

"End this." She said, grasping my hand tightly and folding my fingers around the paper. "Find him and end this. Finish it."

But when I looked up at her, I could only say the first words that came into my mind. "I didn't mean for this to happen. You never deserved this." She shook her head and looked away. Her brother helped her up on the old swayback horse I had cared for.

I opened the paper and read the contents. It was hurried and messy, but I could still make it out:

_Archer Fordham. He should be found near the border to Mexico. Good luck._

And I looked up at the two riding away. They both looked back. The boy's eyes were the same grey as hers, but they held no steel, only uncertainty and remorse. But her eyes troubled me most. For the first time, there was no steel, only fear.

And that was the last I saw of them.


End file.
